


Snapshots and the Flu

by asexualjuliet



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Sickfic, Steve Harrington is a Damn Good Babysitter, Vomiting, Will Byers can’t catch a break, poor baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualjuliet/pseuds/asexualjuliet
Summary: The one where Will is sick and Steve is a damn good babysitter





	Snapshots and the Flu

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely self-indulgent fluff because I love these two A Lot. 
> 
> (Also, Steve being “practically raised by Mr. Rogers” was stolen from mjolnirbreaker’s “a beautiful day in the neighborhood.” Go check it out!!)

It’s maybe 6pm when the phone rings and Steve’s eating spaghetti by the TV. Being the only person in the house once again, he picks it up and answers. 

“Hello?”

“Yeah, hi, it’s Jonathan, I—you’re like, the babysitter, right?”

“Hell yeah I am,” Steve smirks, and he can almost _ hear _ Jonathan roll his eyes through the phone.

“Um, Will’s sick and Eric traded shifts with me _ again _ so I have to work today at 6:30 and would you be willing to just come over and make sure he doesn’t like, die or some crap?” Jonathan asks, and Steve can tell he’s not Jonathan’s first choice of babysitter. 

“Oh, sure, I’ll be there in five,” he says regardless. 

—

The Byers family always makes sure to lock their front door, even when they’re home. 

Honestly, Steve can’t blame them. 

So he knocks on the door, feeling exceptionally out of place on Jonathan Byers’ front porch. 

“Oh, thank God,” Jonathan breathes after opening the door to see Steve outside. “Come in.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry for making you do this,” Jonathan continues as he leads Steve into the house. “I just—”

“Dude, calm down. I’m like, the babysitter, or something,” Steve says, in an attempt to sound much more responsible than he is. 

Jonathan doesn’t answer, just calling out “Will? I’m gonna leave now, okay?” before making his way over to the couch where his brother is wrapped in blankets. 

“You didn’t have to call Steve,” the kid points out in a hoarse voice, to which Steve makes awkward finger guns behind Jonathan’s back. 

“Mom would kill me if I left you here alone and you know it.” Jonathan says. Will just giggles. 

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” Jonathan asks, and Will nods. “Love you,” he adds as he makes his way out the front door. 

“Love you too,” Will whisper-shouts. 

Steve takes this opportunity to sit down and take a good look at the kid. 

He looks like hell. Pale skin and limp hair. Eyes more tired than Steve’s ever seen on a kid so young. 

“Shit, kid, you look terrible.”

Will laughs. “Thanks.”

“You wanna watch TV or something?” Steve asks, hoping the kid will say yes, because he’s utterly lost regarding anything else they could do. 

“Sure.”

Steve gets up and starts to flip through the channels. Happy Days. Looney Toons. Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. 

“Wait, stop,” says Will, blushing. 

“You wanna watch Mr. Rogers?” Steve asks, because thirteen is the age when kids stop doing things they like because they think it’ll make them dorky. 

“I always watch it when I’m sick,” Will says, in his own defense, and the kid looks so miserable Steve doesn’t know what to say. 

“Yeah, okay. This dude basically parented me anyway.” Steve smiles, and Will smiles back. 

They’ve been watching for seven minutes when Will quietly asks, “Can you turn that off?”

Steve gets up to turn off the TV. “You okay?”

“My head hurts,” Will says, curling into himself. 

“You want some Advil or something?” Steve asks. 

“‘M’okay.”

Will is not okay. 

They make it five minutes in silence before Will gets up and runs through the bathroom door. Steve winces as the kid retches miserably before getting up to help him. 

“Hey, you’re okay,” he murmurs as the kid spills his guts into the toilet. 

“I don’t feel good,” Will whines before throwing up again. 

“I know, kid, breathe through it.” Steve rubs Will’s back, and Will gives a little cough before resting his head on the rim of the toilet. 

“Hey, c’mere,” Steve says, letting Will lean back against him. He brushes Will’s hair out of his eyes. “Shit, kiddo, you’re struggling, huh?”

Will gives a weak chuckle. “I feel sucky.”

“Sounds about right,” Steve says. “Does your head still hurt?”

“A little.” Will admits. 

“Any second thoughts on that Advil?”

Will shakes his head. “I’ll just throw it up again.”

Steve nods. “You wanna go back to the couch?” Will nods, and Steve stands up and gives the kid a hand. 

“Thanks,” Will mumbles, and follows Steve’s lead back to the living room. 

—

They’re back in the bathroom less than half an hour later, Will hunched over the toilet, retching painfully. 

“Shit, kid, you’re okay. Get it out,” Steve murmurs, rubbing Will’s back again. 

Will heaves again, and Steve hears him sob. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says when Will turns around to face him. He continues to cry, taking large gulps to keep himself from puking. 

“Don’t do that, kid, c’mon,” Steve says, nudging Will’s head back to face the toilet. 

“Don’t wanna,” Will manages between gulps, then throws up again before he can stop himself. He spits into the toilet before Steve grabs him a piece of toilet paper to wipe his face. 

“Sorry,” Will mumbles, leaning back again. 

“Don’t be, kid. You feel any better?”

“A little. Feels too hot,” Will says, and Steve can tell he’s miserable. He nods before getting up to wet a cold cloth. He wrings it out and wipes it across Will’s forehead. 

“Better?” He asks. 

“Yeah.” Will takes the cloth as Steve stands back up to fill a small cup with water.

“Here,” he says, holding it out to Will, who scrunches up his nose. 

“You don’t have to swallow it, I just get the feeling you don’t want your mouth to taste like something died in it,” Steve assures him. 

Will gives a little smile before taking the water. 

—

“Kid, I know you don’t wanna, but you gotta drink some water,” Steve says as Will emptily retches over the toilet for what seems like the thousandth time. 

“Can’t,” Will chokes out before heaving again. 

“You’re dehydrated as hell, Byers, and if I have to cart your ass to the hospital, your mom’s gonna kill me.” Will says nothing, just leaning back and burying his face into Steve’s chest. 

“Don’t wanna,” Will says, and he knows he sounds like a baby, but he’s so miserable that he doesn’t care. 

“Just, like, two sips, okay?” Steve asks, extricating himself from Will’s arms to get another cup of water. 

Will groans before taking it. “I’m just gonna throw it up again,” he points out. 

“Just try, okay?” Steve pleads. 

Will takes two small sips before setting the cup down and wrapping his arms around Steve once more. 

“It’s not gonna stay down,” he says after a few minutes, in a bit of a panicky voice. Steve gently pushes Will towards the toilet and puts a hand on his shoulder as he coughs weakly. 

“I don’t wanna throw up again,” he whines, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“I know, kid, I—” Steve is cut off by Will retching up what’s left in his stomach. “Oh, shit, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he says gently as Will heaves again. 

A sob comes from Will’s chest as he wipes his mouth and turns back to Steve. “I don’t feel good,” he says, voice cracking. 

“Shit, Byers, I know,” Steve says, gently pushing the hair out of Will’s eyes again. When the tears don’t stop, he just holds out his arms and lets Will hug him again, tears and probably sweat staining his shirt. 

They lean against the bathtub like this for a while. Will’s arms around Steve, who’s got the kid curled up in his lap like a cat. 

It’s how Jonathan finds them, when Will’s drifted off and Steve’s fighting sleep himself. 

“Damn, Harrington,” he says with a smirk when he finds them there, peaceful and quiet.

“Shut up,” Steve says, no bite behind his words. 

Jonathan just smiles before leaving Steve there on the ground and returning with a camera. 

“Goddammit, Byers,” Steve says when Jonathan snaps a photo, but he doesn’t really mind. 

(A photograph shows up in Steve’s mailbox a few days later, while he’s stuck in bed with the flu).

(Jonathan Byers claims no involvement, but Steve knows he’s a goddamn liar, _ and _ that he’s the one who made the soup Nancy brought over, because Nancy can’t cook for her life).

(There’s a photograph up on the fridge at the Byers’ house next time Steve comes over not unlike the one he now keeps on his desk).

(Steve can’t help but smile when he looks at it).

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> All mistakes are my own, please let me know if you see any!
> 
> Kudos/Comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
